


Out of Season

by authorafterhours



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hashisaku, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mokuton!sakura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authorafterhours/pseuds/authorafterhours
Summary: In the background, Tobirama could only close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. For all intents and purposes, his brother appeared to be sweet-talking a Sage-forsaken tree.





	Out of Season

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The plot is mine, but the characters are not. The Naruto universe and those inhabiting it belong to their copyright holders and no copyright infringement is intended.

“How long do you insist on this foolishness, Anija?” Tobirama’s presence didn’t even earn a twitch from Hashirama, who remained in the same sitting position he had held for two hours now. Legs crossed comfortably, arms folded, face forward and eyes peering into the armored bark, as if trying to decipher its secrets. The clan head glanced over at him through the fringes of his bangs. 

“As long as is needed, Tobirama.”

“Whoever or whatever is inside this tree is clearly dangerous, especially given the obstacle course we had to go through to get to it,” Tobirama waved his hand toward what he would love to call ‘Exhibit A’. All around them, it appeared a battle of botany had taken place. Gnarled, newly born trees were tightly knitted together as if wrestling, poisonous if non-lethal plants adorned whatever corner they could find, some were withered, others chopped, and some specimens were uprooted entirely in haste to be airborne. In the center of it all, the tree that Hashirama stared down was porcupine in spikes, sapped in slickness to prevent a secure hold, and held an overpowering odor that was enough for Tobirama to wrinkle his nose. How his brother could stand it was beyond him, but he supposed that Hashirama’s curiosity was just as damning as his penchant for undue kindness and once his brain got ahold of something it was like a starving mongrel with a bone. 

“…If she were really trying to kill us,” his voice came quiet as if afraid to startle, “the poison would have been toxic enough to do so.”

“She?”

“Yes,” Hashirama ignored the incredulity in Tobirama’s voice as he scooted a little closer, closer to the trunk, closer to a spike which was now mere inches from his face, “I think she’s scared, and perhaps hurt…this is her protecting herself.” His eyes squinted, trying to find a crack. 

“Hashirama, do not get any closer,” his hand itched to grab his brother by the back of his shirt to pull him away and a nervously twitching leaf did nothing to abate that urge. “And regardless that does NOT excuse her given that she just attacked us on our own land.” The fact that she even could do such a thing set his teeth on edge. Never before had they come across anyone that could mimic Hashirama’s unique abilities…this possibility birthed a great many more, each more dire than the last and further fueled the pyre of cautious paranoia. Tobirama didn’t question how his brother knew it was a woman, the man had a gift with nature, so something as trivial as—his eyes widened minutely under his faceplate before his expression smoothed with the ease of palm-caressed clay. 

For as long as either of them could recall, Hashirama had been anomaly. He was the only one of his kind, even among their family. Every instance of oddity had been looked upon with surprise, awe, and as time passed, even fear crept in the frames of the many eyes perched upon Hashirama’s person. The quantity only grew with them. So of course it was only natural that when confronted with someone who shared his gifts, who he could share a possible kinship with, that Hashirama would want to reach out. But still…that did not warrant throwing all caution to the wind. His attention snapped back to the brunette as he carefully reached out, and placed a hand on a small, unoccupied space of wood.

“Tobirama, you know we don’t use this land for much other than training.” It was mostly because without Hashirama’s influence, this particular plot was far from fertile. They already had more than enough land dedicated to cultivating food, so unless they experienced a sudden shortage, there was little need for him to drain his chakra to swell their stores further. 

“That doesn’t—Anija!” To his credit, the wood-style user only flinched as his palm was run through by a spontaneously sprouted branch, jagged and its leaves left ruby by his blood. Growling, Tobirama’s hand was already halfway down to where he kept his explosive notes, fingers crinkling the paper before Hashirama’s voice halted him, firm, and his aura commanding. His focus had finally slipped from the tree and was now firmly locked onto the blood splatters that made up his little brother’s eyes.

“Tobirama! Trust me on this…please.” His tone wilted at the death of his plea, but did not wither. A few terse moments passed before Tobirama grimaced, and folded his arms tightly over his chest. Hashirama offered a loose, heartfelt smile that uttered more than words alone could convey, causing the younger to huff. Returning his attention to his assailant, his expression became more shameful, almost like that of a misbehaving school boy’s. “I beg for your forgiveness…to put my hands on a lady without invitation was rather improper of me.” The branches appeared to bend to his voice, or perhaps it was the winds kicked up by dusk. “I could not help but be awed by your skilled craftsmanship and wished to take a closer look…but that is still no excuse.” A sudden sputter of chakra echoed from the center of the trunk, and light ripples lightly brushed against his fingertips. Yet it was not the sensation he focused on, instead his head snapped back to take in sporadic storm of pink clouds above, flush with out of season blossoms. A few petals swayed with the lightness of snow, dusting the tops of his shoulders and tangling in his mane. His expression bloomed warm and bright at the display. “Beautiful…” his brows furrowed as he tilted his head in attentiveness to a song only he could hear, “Now now, you are too modest my lady.”

In the background, Tobirama could only close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. For all intents and purposes, his brother appeared to be sweet-talking a Sage-forsaken tree. A quiet creak coaxed him to peer over his hand, and his eyes narrowed as the branch lodged into Hashirama’s hand began to move. It came off the tree with a muted snap, the tip short and thin enough to make removal easier. Yet even as Hashirama picked it off, and his natural regeneration began to work, that didn’t stop Tobirama from taking his palm in hand and activating his own medical jutsu. To his credit, the elder didn’t even fight it, as he had long gotten used to his brother’s gruff brand of mother henning. 

“You’re not going to let this go are you?” Tobirama sighed out at last, resignation thickly coloring his tongue. Even though you just got stabbed, went unvoiced. 

“Not if I can help it. She needs help…even if she doesn’t want to admit it. Besides Tobirama, wouldn’t it be better to have her as an ally?” His expression crinkled in distaste at the thought of fighting a potential clone of Hashirama’s, prompting the other man to laugh. “That’s what I thought.” After a moment, his joviality retreated to hang back in the shadows of his face, “Please…let me take care of this.” Tobirama’s countenance only darkened further at the unsaid suggestion and stared down at him, neither man breaking eye contact. After a few minutes, the younger man looked away first, and let out a harsh breath before turning back to Hashirama, teeth bared in frustration.

“Fine, but if you aren’t back within the hour …” He didn’t need to finish. Tobirama would drag him back to the compound by his hair if necessary and both knew it. Within the span of a fallen leaf, not even a whisper of the white-haired shinobi remained. Chuckling softly, Hashirama tilted his head toward his silent, anxious audience, his oak eyes dancing in amusement.

“Fear not my lady, he doesn’t mean it…well,” he fumbled a little before he finally admitted, “heh, maybe he does a little. Tobirama is a worry wart and if his hair wasn’t that color already I’m sure it would be regardless. And if you’re concerned about my hand, please—“ 

“Why?” He froze at the interruption, soft, sudden and exhausted it was, and perhaps a bit broken too. If there were any lingering doubts as to the sex of their mysterious visitor, they were expelled with the utterance of that single syllable. It was muffled by the layers of wood, but still audible. At the slight, reprimanding twinge of his palm, he resisted the urge to press his ear against the trunk. When it appeared as though there would be no more, he was about to ask for further clarity and he opened his mouth only for her voice to come out. “Why…are you doing this?” Her words came out halting like struggling footsteps, unsteady but rushed, like those of a traveler’s lost in the deepest of deserts. As if each inch of stride warded off death. “He’s right,” her breath was hitched with effort, “to you, I am a kunoichi of unknown motives, and I am dangerous…so why are you trying to be nice?” Destroying the tree was certainly not beyond his capabilities. “…What do you want?” His mouth closed, and his lips were temporarily sealed by the hard edges of his teeth before a smile tugged them free. He stared at where he felt the voice originated, closer to the base, and forced himself not to whisper but keep his tone soft.

“…It is very selfish, but the truth is that I do not wish to be alone anymore.” Not a single branch, petal, or leaf rustled, the tree sat still and attentive like a photograph subject. “It’s an awful thing to say especially given the wonderful family I have been blessed with, but…even when I am surrounded by those I love there are moments when I feel…as if I don’t belong. As long as I can remember I have been the only one that could perform Mokuton...the first in fact in our written history.” The memories come slowly at first, as if trickling past a dam before gaining traction as more and more build up, threatening to break the blockage. Wary adults, hushed whispers, eyes filled with envy, expectation, fear, awe and ambition. The chasm between Hashirama and the other children steadily widening as if it wasn’t enough that he was the clan heir. He swallowed the rest of the aged wounds, throat raw, before it was soothed by the more recent draught of acceptance and admiration. Hashirama was not foolish enough to believe the rest of those poisons were completely cured, but he was optimistic enough to hope. “So it is a pleasant surprise to find someone with similar abilities.” The rest came out with a cheerful chirp, “Are you a Senju as well?” 

Throughout the future kage’s narrative, silence had been his audience. There was a stifled sound of movement, more of an adjustment given there was little room probably, a leg stretching out perhaps. There was a hitched breath and the quiet ‘thunk,’ prompting his uninjured hand to fist at his side. He didn’t regret finding her, but the journey they had taken to get here through her traps had to have exhausted her further, aggravated her wounds even more. Beneath the sweet scent of the cherry blossoms, the coppery taint of blood swelled. The pause was pregnant with memories of a boy woven from sunshine before she found the will to answer.

“No…I’m not.” 

“I see,” so it wasn’t a bloodline limit after all, “Please, let me help you. Because if you don’t—“

“I know,” her breath came out in a rasp, “…I’m….I’m okay with that. I’ve lost…I’ve lost everything I’ve ever...,” ever loved, “so…” So what was the point of going on? Heedless of the potential consequences, Hashirama placed both hands on the trunk and rested his forehead against the wood soon after. His words were rushed, stones desperately skipping across a river, trying to reach the other side. 

“I can’t begin to understand the depth of what you have lost but please, don’t give up. I don’t know them but surely the people you love wouldn’t—“

“Wouldn’t what?” And suddenly it was winter, a blistering, icy storm. “Wouldn’t want me to throw my life away, is that what you’re going to say? You’re right, you don’t know them.” Even if he was right, she couldn’t…how could she? “And it’s not like I can ever know what they’d say because they’re all dead!” A ribcage-quaking gasp deflated her because it was all the more real now that that accursed word was thrown into the air with the carelessness of confetti. The woman’s outburst didn’t deter him in the least and in the wake of her thunder, his was rain. 

“…Forgive me.”

“You ask for forgiveness a lot.” A slight thaw to her tone, but it was no less biting. His lips quirked up. 

“Beautiful, strong, intelligent women have the unique effect of reducing me to a fool. I fear it’s an incurable condition.”

“You don’t even know what I look like.” Disbelief exasperated her and Hashiraima’s smile stretched further.. 

“Maybe. But if I were blind—“

“I don’t think you are.”

“—it wouldn’t matter. You’d still be beautiful to me.” His words barely rested on the dirt of the forest floor before Hashirama’s features sobered. “I am sorry though, for presuming to speak for the dead. That doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind, however. To give up, to throw your life away…it’d be a waste of the very thing your loved ones were robbed of.” Lifting his head, the brunette’s eyes pierced through the bark. “I cannot guarantee life will get better, I am not one to make empty promises…but by choosing this path, you eliminate the very possibility. It will be difficult to live without them…but if you must, live for them.” First they stalled, then his voice, his thoughts they all failed but his emotions, his unsaid pleas, it all frothed in his throat. It was like trying to shove a thread through a needle eye. The quiet stretched, almost languidly, and for a breathless moment, Hashirama feared she had passed, so shrunken her signature had become. His chin bumped his chest, likely to take his heart’s place as it dropped to his sandals. Tobirama had always scolded him for its softness, usually out of concern, but it was part of who he was…Hashirama couldn’t turn it off. Before his thoughts could become more morose, his eyes widened as sound scuttled to his ears. It sounded like…cracking? The wood beneath his hands began to crumble and he stumbled back as the layers were peeled back, forming a large, gaping hole in the trunk. 

Propped up against the opposing wall, she sagged like a wilted flower. The sun lit up the flushed hue of her hair that perfectly matched the blossoms floating above them, messy and marred as it was. Her skin was all the more bleached as it acted as backdrop for the blood, and well-muscled limbs appeared almost twig-like in their awkward, stiff positions, all elbows as she cradled her side. It bloomed crimson with the handprint of eternity. Scrambling, Hashirama widened the gap and kneeled at her side, gently prying away her sticky hands to replace them as his fingers glowed. The small space was illuminated a haunting peridot by his chakra, which prompted Sakura’s eyes to peek open and peer at him through heavy lids. So focused he was on his task, the future Shodaime missed how her gaze latched onto him, embraced him like vines. A wane smile was drawn on her face at the realization that while healing his own injuries came naturally to him, regeneration her mentor once called it, he was still learning how to treat others. He was a seed that was still budding. 

Shakily, Sakura rested her hand on top of his and squeezed weakly to earn his attention. Hashirama glanced up and his breath hitched a little at their proximity, their faces mere inches apart. In comparison to all that he had been taught to want in a woman, she couldn’t compare with her torn, strange clothes, her fruit-bruised skin, hard body, matted candied hair, blood-soaked lips and eyes that matched the shade of Suna produced poison, complete with crusted tears that could be mistaken for sand. She wasn’t the floating paper lanterns most maidens were preconceived as…fragile, full of salvation’s light, and seemingly out of reach. They were demure and danced to men’s words as they did the wind’s whims, yet she didn’t. This woman stood her ground, made her voice heard, and felt far more real beneath his hands. Hashirama had never seen a more stunning woman in his life. Her lips cracked a little. 

“Let me…guide you. I can do it…I just need to borrow your chakra…please.” He blinked before Hashirama gave a determined nod, and braced himself. Ultimately it did little good as the moment her chakra brushed his, he inhaled sharply. If he had to describe the sensation, it was that long lusted salvation from war, it was a warm pair of arms holding his damaged pieces together, and a quiet ‘welcome home’ hummed in his ear. The soft buzz of healing and the slight drain on his energy brought him back from his daze, and he watched with awe and interest as her side was knit neatly, steam billowing, hissing, as if rising from a bath. The tug on his chakra ceased and her grip on his hands loosened, which allowed him to adjust so that he cradled her smaller, equally callused ones. “…You’re right, I suppose.” But that didn’t make the prospect any less excruciating, less grueling. At his inquisitive expression, she continued and her breath wasn’t as labored. “It would be a waste and knowing them…well, I’d be lucky if I got off with just a lecture.” Ino, Lee and Naruto would give her an earful for sure. Hashirama softened and he couldn’t use his usual boisterous, booming tone if he tried, the relief had stolen into his lungs. It was almost euphoric, that despite how darkly dyed his hands were with blood, he still managed to save at least one life. He swallowed the ‘thank you.’ 

“They sound like wonderful people.” Mindful of her remaining injuries, Hashirama let go of her hands and cushioned the back of her knees and shoulders before he stood up. He adjusted her so the woman was tucked comfortably against his chest as he stepped over the threshold of the tree and started walking. Despite her best efforts, the soft swaying of his gait had Sakura’s eyes fluttering in an effort to stay awake. 

“The…best….” The brunette didn’t take his eyes off her even as he deftly kept his feet steady in a sea of debris.

“Before you doze off, can I at least have the honor of knowing your name my lady?” Her eyes were already closed and it took her so long to answer Hashirama figured she already had, yet he felt the vibration of her words against his armor more than he heard them. The lilt of them was almost like laughter.

“…You know, you should…offer your name, before asking for another’s.”

“Heh, you are right. Forgive me my lack of manners. I am Senju Hashirama.” Really, he was apologizing quite a lot tonight, he mused almost sheepishly. After a long moment, he looked down and was dismayed to find she had already fallen asleep so for now, her answer eluded him. Well, it would provide the promise of a future conversation later, Hashirama reasoned and as he gazed down at her, he couldn’t help but note with a smile how peaceful she looked. To wake her now would be rather cruel. His thoughts turned shaky as Sakura curled closer, almost attempting to burrow into him before she let out a soft exhale of a good night. His grip firmed and he was only able to tear his gaze away when the shadows of the gates reached for his feet. Tobirama stood, leaning against the entrance and only let out a huff at the sight of Hashirama’s megawatt smile. He didn’t pause in his trek to the infirmary and his brother fell into step beside him. From way Tobirama’s chakra bubbled and boiled like a pot of stew, Hashirama knew he was in for it once they no longer had an audience, dozing or otherwise, but with the rightness that had long made home of his gut, he couldn’t find it in himself to care much.

He couldn’t wait to hear her name.


End file.
